In Wire
by ibuzoo
Summary: "Would I still love you, if you killed someone?" "You'd forgive me," Tom says, "You understand."


**o.**

Peter Pan is not a boy anymore.

* * *

**i.**

Hermione holds her breath as Tom winds the rope around her wrists, behind her back, scratching on her sensitive skin, making her tense every time their skin brushes. She's kneeling, Tom behind her out of sight and her focus is reduced to the white wall of the bedroom, the sideboard, the flowers on it. The rest of the room fades from her awareness and all she can think about is the rope coiling around her, Tom's thumb sliding across the back of her hands, fingers dancing and ghosting over her shoulders.

"Why so anxious?", Tom asks, a glint of amusement in his voice, tightening the last knot.

He cups Hermione's chin in his hands, guides her backwards and it feels like falling. Hermione has no choice but to go with it, her shoulders hit Tom's abdomen, head dragged back against his chest, her breath hitches, fails, and she can feel his breath brushing her exposed throat.

"Is that how you want me?", she asks, breath shuddering, skin covered in goosebumps, and she breathes in, deep, wets her lips with her tongue.

Tom's finger teases the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her throat and it feels like an eternity, the tension laying on her naked skin like a veil of devotion, "Not tonight," he finally admits, chuckles, adds, "Not yet."

She shuts her eyes.

* * *

**ii.**

"Have you ever thought about all the ways we could have met?"

Tom's fingertips trace the line of her cheeks, slow, gentle, a strange sensation that reminds her of the predator sleeping inside of him and it fills something in Hermione like swallowing honey, thick and sweet, covering her throat and gorge.

_(or is it blood? is it blood?)_

She goes still, heart beat steady, holds that feeling in her chest.

"Infinite universes, infinite possibilities," Tom murmurs.

"And in every one of them you found me?"

Tom buries his face in Hermione's hair and clutches her cheek, fingers burrowing in her skin, leaving marks on both sides, the pain firing, flaming, eyes watering. She doesn't make a sound.

"Of course."

_(the pressure lingers long even after he drops his hand)_

* * *

**iii.**

"Have you thought about it?", Tom asks, tongue sharp, turning Hermione around to face him and there's something glistening in his eyes, something animal, "About all the ways we might have loved each other?"

"Tell me," she whispers, eyes never leaving his handsome features because what is she supposed to answer, what is she supposed to say.

Instead of answering, Tom kisses her, eats her mouth, violently jerks Hermione's head back by her hair and captures her lips in one fluid movement, bruises them, bites and licks and chews and marks and Hermione already feels contusions building. She exhales sharply, lets out a tiny, helpless moan that's lost against Tom's mouth. Tom takes her apart, peels her skin layer by layer, takes everything from her, and all Hermione wants is to give and give and give. They're undressed already, nothing between them but skin and friction, heat and passion - and it's still not enough. Hermione whines in frustration and strains against Tom's grip on her hair.

She feels his mouth curve into a smirk.

* * *

**vi.**

"We could have been a fairy tale," Tom suggests, sits on the bed and pulls Hermione into his lap, arms around her, nails dragging from her neck across her back, "I would have torn you apart."

A shiver runs down Hermione's spine, knows there's only truth in his words, pure calculation but she can't help smiling, "Are you sure about that? I think I could take you."

Tom laughs outright and his fingers stop at the small of her back, "I wouldn't want you if you couldn't."

* * *

**v.**

"So how does this fairytale of yours begins?",Hermione asks while his cold fingers trail patterns on her back, takes a deep breath and continues, „How do we meet?"

Tom's fingers tease her skin, further down, touch her sides, her abdomen, the inside of her tights, make her squirm, "We begin the way all good fairy tales do. With an innocent youth lost in the woods... and a monster."

„You mean like Red Riding Hood?"

„I was more thinking of Peter Pan, a boy in the woods, quick, daring, and full of mischief—and like all boys, he loves to play, though his games often end in blood."

He pushes into her without a warning and it's so abruptly, it steals the air from her lungs, no support from his side but he keeps her steady, keeps her still. She writhes and pants but his voice lulls her in, reassures her, "I wouldn't kill you, of course. I could never kill you. There is no universe where that's true."

Hermione trembles as Tom withdraws, it's hard not to whine at the loss, the heat between her legs and she can hear his smirk when he speaks again, "I might hurt you, though. Would you like that?"

* * *

**vi.**

Nobody admits it, but the truth is always ugly.

Of course, you can package it up differently, you can say: Peter Pan is not insane, Peter Pan is not a murderer, Peter Pan doesn't steal little children and sacrifices them in his games of blood and war.

You can say: Peter Pan was always a little boy, innocent and pure.

* * *

**vii.**

"Well, Hermione?", Tom asks ludic, amused, while his hands never stop scratching over her hot flesh, "Would you like me to hurt you? Get you down on the floor and claw my hands and dig my teeth into those pretty thighs of yours? Leave marks that might fade but change you forever, make you mine? Would you like that?"

"Yes," Hermione pants because that's exactly what she wants, what she needs, isn't it, so she moans, almost whines, "God, yes."

* * *

**viii.**

The truth is, Peter Pan is not a story about adventurous boys and a boy that never wants to grow up.

Peter Pan is an adult.

Peter Pan is a monster.

Peter Pan isn't human.

* * *

**ix.**

"What about the others? What if they'd try and keep you away from me?"

"I'd kill them," Tom says without missing a beat. He jerks his hips up and enters her again, makes her gasp and pant, catch her breath, close her eyes, shuddering, and she feels his grin like a jackal perilous on her shoulder blade, "Or maybe I'd make you do it."

* * *

**x.**

_(no boys in neverland)_

* * *

**xi.**

"Would I still love you, if you killed someone?"

"You'd forgive me," Tom says, "You understand."

He sounds breathless now too, his grip tightening on her hips and thighs until it's almost painful, red dark marks digging in her flesh, raw and sore and his voice presses, urges again, "You understand."

He grabs the back of Hermione's neck, forces her to look up into his eyes and what she sees deep in the blueish grey, is a cold glint driving passion in her veins, her bones, his lips hovering right over hers.

„You know i mean it," Tom says while he bites at her lips and neck, says again, "I swear, I'll kill for you."

Hermione gasps, and then she's coming so hard she's almost ashamed of the sounds escaping her lips, can't feel anything besides his fingers digging into her hip like he's seeking a mark that doesn't exist. When Tom comes, Hermione's name is a moan on his tongue and lips.

_(a prayer almost)_

* * *

**xii.**

Peter Pan is not a boy anymore.

* * *

**xiii.**

"There are other universes out there," Tom says later, pressed together under the bedsheets, warm and close and whole and no rope around her wrists anymore, just the steady beat of his heart drumming against his ribcage, „Universes like a fairytale, Universes with magic and eternal life, Universes where I've killed, Universes where you've killed, Universes where we're on different sides of a war but in every single one of them you're lying in my arms."

Hermione thinks about this, shifts even closer to him, hands drawing imaginary patterns on his pallid chest, "I'd rather have this one," she finally says, whispers.

There's silence in the room and Tom's voice is calm when he speaks again.

_(she can hear the beast in his deep baritone)_

"I want them all."

* * *

**xiv.**

No boys in neverland.

Just men.


End file.
